


Rebellion

by MamaWithGloriousPurpose



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, M/M, Possible PTSD trigger?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 07:51:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6845896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MamaWithGloriousPurpose/pseuds/MamaWithGloriousPurpose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bucky grasps at freewill like it's an act of rebellion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rebellion

**Author's Note:**

> ***CIVIL WAR SPOILERS***  
> This is sort of coda, sort of head canon. I don't know. I intended to rewrite the cryo scene as an act of fear that Steve would ultimately sway Bucky away from. Which is what I thought he should have done (I have so many thoughts - feelings - on this!!) ....but then this just sort of happened. Sorry?

Bucky tugs at the bill of his steel gray baseball cap, refitting it to block out the glare from the sun overhead. Today was a scorcher. _What ever happened to spring_ , Bucky wondered to himself. He'd have to add that to the growing list of questions he's been gathering since resurfacing. It was no where near as high on the list as " _why the fuck am I still alive_?" But he'd still like to know.

James Buchanan Barnes. 107th. Soldier. No. _Weapon_. Those were the only memories he had to cling to. Every once in awhile other things would trickle in. Things that were always there, out of focus and just out of reach. Shreds of a life worth living, of a man worth being. But as soon as the fog started to lift, the pain would return. Each time seemed harsher than the last. Near the end it was damn near fatal. Given a choice between the pain and the haze, Bucky would readily choose the haze every time. He didn't want to remember. He had no interest in being forced to forget. He just wanted it to be over.

Usually 'over' to Bucky meant the bitter cold. An eternal winter's rest...or at least until the next mission. But all that changed with the man on the bridge. Suddenly the fog seemed more burdensome than any amount of pain. "I knew him," he begged his captors. _I knew him_ , he told himself. What was worse than the idea that Bucky knew the man, was the stark realization that the man knew _him_.

Bucky let it slip away though. Knowing better than to attempt to commit the moment to memory. That man was already in there. It's not like it mattered much anyway. Bucky parted his lips, allowing entrance for the mouth guard. He accepted his perpetual fate. The seconds before the pain were harder to deal with than the pain itself. Hands pushed him down, something closed around him. Bucky breathed heavily, tensing every muscle in his body while he still had the freewill to do so. Being afraid, being utterly terrified felt like a tiny act of rebellion in and of itself. Numbness made it clear that he was just a shell, a weapon for their use and eventual disposal. He forced his eyes to stay open, clinging to his self awareness a moment longer. The pain was excruciating and all consuming. It was familiar. The pain was easy.

_Today was a scorcher._

The sun was brilliant. It was blinding. Bucky adjusted his cap again, lifting it and smoothing rogue hairs before replacing on his head snuggly. He was fidgeting. The noise around him was chaotic. Almost purposefully so. There were people scattered everywhere. _Not as many as there should be_ , he thought, as there used to be in his time. A crack of rawhide against wood cut through the thoughts stirring in Bucky's head. His vision snapped to the field below as various men took their positions. Bucky's eyebrows pinched together. Before he could decide whether he was confused or concentrating, a hand landed on his shoulder. He should be alarmed. Reacting. But the touch wasn't at all startling. It was comforting. Bucky could feel the warmth permeating the layers of fabric between the firm hand on his right shoulder and his skin. He flexed the muscles in his upper arm just because he could.

"You okay, Buck?" The voice attached to that hand was reassuring. It was grounding, familiar.

Bucky rolled his shoulder just because he could.

"You enjoying the game? We can g-"

"I'm fine," Bucky cut in. He hated interrupting that voice. He hated even more when that hand left his shoulder.

"I know you are. But if this is too much, too soon, we don't have to stay. We can take this as slow as you need."

Bucky twisted his neck to the right. The man slouched in the seat next to him, the man on the bridge, they were one in the same. The man who always brought him back. Bucky must've been staring again. Lost in his thoughts as his eyes were roaming over the muscly form beside him. He was halfway between craving the super soldier in a way he'd surely have been resisting for decades if either man had been given the luxury of fighting side by side, and swallowing down a lump of sadness pooling in his chest over the kid from  
Brooklyn he'd left behind, when the careful voice cut through again.

"Buck? You hear me? Come on, let's get ou-"

"No," Bucky clamped a hand down on his companion's thigh. "Don't, leave."

"Bucky," the man dipped his head to try and find Bucky's eye line. Bucky tilted his head back. His stony eyes were hidden away from the world beneath the ball cap, but he allowed his friend access. When their eyes met, the other man's expression visibly softened though his lips curled involuntarily. "I'm not leaving you pal. We can go together. If this is too mu-"

"'s not." Bucky squeezed the leg he was touching before realizing he should know better and pulling away. "This is great Stevie. Like old times." Steve remained attentive as he sat back in his seat. Both men returned their gazes to the field. Bucky laughed out loud at himself, almost slipping back into his internal monologue. He could feel Steve's concern boring into him.

"What is it?" Steve asked.

Bucky slipped lower in his chair, the collar of his jacket catching on the aluminum backing. He let his head fall comfortably to the side as he regained the eye contact that penetrated his icy exterior. His knee brushed against Steve's. He decided he liked it there.

"Nothing's like old times though, is it." It was a statement, not an inquiry.

"Naw Buck, nothing is." Steve agreed with a grin.

They got caught up in a wave of nostalgia, commenting on everything from the seating - " _chairs Buck, what happen to bleachers_?" - to the dwindling attendance - " _where's the love for the game Stevie_?" - to the price of a hot dog - their syncopated scoffing triggered equally syncopated laughter. They were having such a good time. They almost didn't notice. But _noticing_ was not really a necessity.

[LONGING]

Not for Bucky Barnes.

[RUSTED]

Not for the asset.

[FURNACE]

The weapon.

[DAYBREAK]

The code chimed in slowly. One carefully placed word at a time. Seamlessly spilling over the loud speaker, mixed within the commentary of the game. Bucky was losing himself to the haze before he would be able to latch on to something. Anything.

[SEVENTEEN]

Not that he was ever given the luxury of choice.

[BENIGN]

Out in public, in the middle of a crowd, but with no one to witness. Bucky was loosing control. As a last act of rebellion, Bucky was afraid.

[NINE]

He grabbed at Steve's arm, Steve's chest, Steve's face. "Buck what is it?" The familiarity in the voice was lowly reseeding.

"Bucky?"

Fear would not be enough this time.

"Bucky?!"

Bucky grabbed both sides of Steve's collar and pulled him forward, ripping him harshly from his seat. "Buc-" the suddenly small, timid voice of the man in the seat next to him was cut off by the crash of Bucky's lips.

[HOMECOMING]

Bucky Barnes would go down swinging. They could control him. Use him. But these last seconds were _his_. So he would commit everything about the other man to memory today. Before he was, before _they_ were lost to the fog.

[ONE]

Before his freedom was once again lost to the _pain_.

[FREIGHT CAR]

~*~

The sound of the door crashing open had Bucky reaching for the blade he kept tucked under his too soft pillow. The lump of it made it easier to sleep, never letting him forget. He sat quickly, knife in hand, eyes on the intrusion in seconds. He moved inhumanly fast and with military style precision. Steve screeched to a halt a few feet from the entryway he'd just barged through. He had his hands in the air, a gesture of assurance more than self defense.

"You were shouting," Steve said flatly.

Bucky's breathing began to regulate as he became more aware of his surroundings. He pinched his eyes closed, focusing on the feeling of a bead of sweat sliding down his neck. On the thrum of his heartbeat. He gripped the cold metal of knife in his hand tighter, registering the weight in his hand.

"Was I?" He said monotone. He let his eyelids rest heavily. Steve swallowed. The crushing silence of the night made it audible.

"Yeah." Bucky could hear the cautious steps Steve took toward the bed. "You were." He could hear him set himself gently on the mattress, close enough to touch but far enough to give Bucky his space. "You wanna talk about it?" Bucky called the shots here. If he wanted an out, he knew Steve would give it to him.

"No," he sighed. He released his grip and the blade slipped from his grasp, landing with a firm thud against the harsh tiled floor. He smelled Steve before he registered him shifting closer. He smelled like sandalwood and fresh linen. Bucky opened his eyes.

"Okay," Steve assured him, "it's your choice Buck. I'm here when you're ready. He slid a hand over Bucky's shoulder, letting it hover. Awaiting quickly granted permission. Bucky laughed. A few men had congregated at his door. Steve waved them away. "He's good," they looked conflicted, "I got him. Really."

As the onlookers dissipated Steve tried to console his friend, but Bucky huffed a laugh as he cut in. "Can we do this in the morning?"

"Of course," Steve answered a little too gently, "do you want...should I..."

"I don't need a babysitter," Steve opened his mouth to protest but Bucky continued. "But you're right down the hall if I need you, eh pal?"

"Two doors to the right. Close enough to hear you if you call."

"Alright, get outta here then."

Steve stood to leave, approaching the doorway before turning. "Don't forget your knife," he gestured to the floor. Bucky raised his right arm and saluted him, smirking as he sunk back into his mattress. Steve left his door open slightly as he retreated.

+

"We were at a game."

Steve's fork stopped midway between his plate and his mouth. His face twisted into a look of confusion, before the sentence clicked in to place. "In your? You were...dreaming?"

"If you wanna call it that," Bucky was grinning through his frustration. "More like a nightmare. We were at a game..."

"Baseball?" Steve was so attentive it almost pained Bucky.

"Yeah yeah pal," he continued, "baseball. It was different though, ya know? The times and all that. We were having a good time. But," Bucky scratched at the stubble on his face. His right hand came to rest on his neck. He squeezed the spot where skin met metal. What evidence was left of the weapon he once was. "The words. They were there. Looping in my head Steve. I couldn't stop them. What if I'd've triggered myself?"

"Is that possible?"

"I don't know man. We don't know anything." Bucky bit back the bitterness in his voice. Steve was here. Steve was grounding him. "I want..."

"What you need buddy? You name it."

"I need to go back under." Bucky stated it with such finality. His expression was confident. This was Bucky's choice. He made it clear. Only the man in front of him would be able to read the glimmer of sadness on his otherwise stoic face.

"Buck-"

"Steve. I know they wanna help man. I do. But what if they can't. What if-"

"You're safe here. Bucky, we're safe, here." Steve reassured him confidently. Only Bucky would be able to pick up on the hitch in his tone, the fact that Steve was trying to reassure himself as well. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I know. End of the line, right?" Bucky laughed nervously. "But..I think this is where the line runs out for me." Quickly adding, "at least, ya know, for now."

Steve would understand. This was Bucky choice. Bucky was free to decide what was best for him. He wasn't running away. He wasn't hiding. No, this was an act of rebellion. Bucky wasn't a weapon. Bucky wasn't an asset. Bucky was a man. A man with too much weight on his shoulders. One who would rather lock himself away than let anyone else chose his fate. Steve wouldn't take that choice from him.

Steve didn't. Instead, he pointed, "eat your breakfast."

+

They made their way through the maze of hallways to the awaiting clean room which was slowly filling with a gathering of medical staff. The compound was locked down tight. It was safe. Protected. A world of its own. Bucky looked fragile as he walked, adorned in sterile, starched white fabrics. It was more of a stroll as he carried himself cautiously. It was a glaring contrast to the way The Soldier stepped. Always with aggressive and enhanced precision.

"I remember it all ya know?"

"Yeah Bucky, I know." Bucky could hear the resolve in Steve's voice. "It wasn't you though. It was _them_."

For once Bucky denied eye contact. "Except it was me, Steve. No matter what happens, what comes next, it was me."

+

"You sure about this?"

Bucky forced a half hearted smile at Steve's forced casualness. "I can't trust my own mind." The subtle swell of fear returned, this time dwarfed by melancholy. "So until they figure out how to get this stuff outta my head I think going back under is the best thing." Bucky truly believed it, saying finally, "for everybody."

_For **you**. Can't hurt you again._

The steps from the bed to the cryogenic chamber were the most purposeful and self aware Bucky had been in a long time. He stepped through the opening. This was Bucky's choice. He relaxed into position as the glass door swished closed, encapsulating him.  _His last act of rebellion_. Bucky drew in a bated breath as fear bubbled to the surface.

_His choice._

His fist hit the side of the chamber. "Wait!" He swallowed, composing himself. "Wait."

Immediately the door on his enclosure slide back open, reassuring Bucky of his freedom.

"You okay?" Steve stepped up to his friend. "You don't have t-"

Bucky reached his arm out, grabbing a fistful of Steve's gray tshirt. "I'm here," Steve choked out, going for reassuring but landing somewhere near _I'm scared too_. "I'm with ya pal," he laughed timidly.

Bucky's mouth curled into a half smile, the most sincere he'd felt in a lifetime. "I know." He pulled Steve close, pressing a kiss to his lips that he hoped conveyed everything he'd never say. Not here. Not like this. "See ya on the other side," Bucky laughed. It was forced, but he was more confident than ever in his decision. Trusting that not only would Steve be there to bring him home, but that he'd always give him the _choice_.

Steve took two steps back. His surprised expression was washed away quickly. Replaced with pointedly mirrored confidence. "I'll be right here Buck."

"I don't need a baby sitter," Bucky winked as the door slide closed, locking into position.

Steve raised his hands defensively in mock surrender, "I know."

"Alright," Bucky took in a calming breath, "get outta here then." His eyes fell closed comfortably as the freezing process began.

Steve didn't budge though. He stood stock still to watch the proceedings. Perhaps it was rebellious in his own right. But he'd be there until Bucky was under. It was quick. _Painless_. At least for Bucky. And for now, that's all that mattered.

+

"Thank you for this." Steve was aiming for gratitude, but his words fell somewhere near dismay.

"Your friend and my father. They were both victims. If I can help one of them find peace..." T'challa let his thought fade, unfinished but complete just the same.

"You know if they find out he's here," Steve warned. To T'challa or as a reminder to himself was unclear even to him, "they'll come for him."

Their gazes turned toward the window, overseeing the expanse of the fortress and the outlining jungle.

"Let them try."

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written Steve/Bucky before. I've barely even read them. I guess I wanted them to stay pure? (Lame.) But let me know if my blurb did Bucky justice. I wrote this all in one go so it's not very meaty and I'm not sure I'm happy with the pacing? But as per my entire existence at the moment, I was much more worried about Bucky's headspace than anything. Oh and feel free to rec me Steve/Bucky fics. And share your thoughts on that ending! Basically talk Stucky to me please.


End file.
